


Sitting in a Tree

by janelane93



Series: Belonging [1]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:21:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22927105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janelane93/pseuds/janelane93
Summary: On a job for Sinister, Victor learns a few things about Remy's past. His reaction surprises even him.
Relationships: Victor Creed/Remy LeBeau
Series: Belonging [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1655689
Comments: 11
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've finished my Essex/Remy series for the time being, so I needed to pair him with someone new. Who better than a big mean feral, right? :)
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think, and thank you very much for reading!

Life was uncomplicated for Victor Creed. He preferred it that way. Nearly two centuries of crisscrossing the globe as a soldier, as a mercenary, and as a freelance killer had left him with the means and the reputation to do as he pleased. Most of the time that meant alternating between hunting for profit and hunting for sport. When he wasn't hunting, he holed up in a quiet part of the wilderness to be alone. When the silence grew too big, he left, and hired himself out to the highest bidder.

He had worked for many people over the years. Sometimes it was a once-and-done job, for some eastern European "businessman" he never heard from again. Sometimes he had repeat customers. They liked the way he worked, clean, efficient, no witnesses. He was nothing if not professional. And he always got his man.

He had done jobs for Essex off and on ever since the Cajun had drawn him into the fold a few years back, before things went to hell in the tunnels. The tunnels. What a shitshow. He'd hightailed it out of there after he gutted the kid, knowing Essex would be pissed. And he was. Victor had gone to ground, and had almost a week of wondering if and when the good doctor would communicate his displeasure over Victor's rough treatment of the weirdo's favorite toy. 

He'd been in a shitty motel in Arizona. Woke up in the middle of the night, unable to move, Essex sitting pretty in the armchair across the room. Calm as anything. Using his telepathy to keep Victor right where he wanted him. The next two days were mostly a blur. He was glad not to remember.

His punishment completed, Essex had departed. Victor had solemnly vowed to himself to avoid pasty-faced scientists in the future. But a couple months passed, and life being what it was, he found himself hired on a one time basis again. And then again. Essex's jobs were easy and paid well, but he made sure not to take every offer. Play at least a little bit hard to get. Not let himself get too comfortable.

The Cajun had come back too, after awhile. Oh he was still with the X-Men, made that clear, but was willing to lower himself to take a job or two from Essex on occasion. Nothing too terrible of course, he didn't want to get his pretty little hands dirty with the blood of anyone who didn't deserve it. And Essex was real careful not to send him on anything that might offend his delicate sensibilities. Doing his best to keep his hooks in the kid, for whatever weird reasons that Victor didn't bother himself with. None of his business anyhow. 

So he and the punk were both occasional employees of the same guy. Victor worked for a lot of people. It didn't mean anything. He hunted, he got paid. And now and then Essex sent him and the Cajun on the same job. 

The first time, after the tunnels, the kid had pitched a fit. Wailing to Essex and threatening to kick Victor's ass. The doctor had taken him aside and told him some line or another, and of course LeBeau bought it, and agreed to put aside the past and get the job done. Victor didn't give a shit if he had wanted to back out. 

But he was useful in a pinch. He fought like a cornered hellcat and wasn't afraid to take a hit. He was sneaky and fast and after awhile Victor found himself looking forward to doing jobs with the Cajun. Just because it was easier to have him around than to not. Not cause he liked the kid. He didn't. Made real sure to tell him every chance he got, too, just so there was no confusion. At first it pissed him off, but these days it just earned him a snotty comment and an eye roll.

***

So there they were, him and the Cajun, in Prague looking for someone with info about the genealogy of some family of mutants from back in the 17th century. Essex sent them to find a family album that had been passed down to the modern day descendants. Not mutants anymore, there hadn't been any in a hundred years at least, but the doctor wanted the information and didn't care how he got it. They were to buy it, steal it, or take it by force, which was why it was the Cajun (for the stealing part) and him (for the force part.) 

They'd gone to this descendant's place to check it out. Some fancy house in a swanky neighborhood. Made sure the man in question was out before making their first attempt. The kid had charmed the housekeeper who answered their knock on the door, batting his lashes and eyefucking the plump teenager. Told her some bullshit story about being a distant relative trying to prove his lineage and that album would really help if he could just get a peek at it. She had giggled like an idiot and spilled that her employer had recently sold a bunch of heirlooms to some antique collector, including the old book. She had gone back into the house to find the contact information for the buyer.

He and the punk were leaning on the garden wall smoking, waiting for her to return, the spring air warm and flowers blooming all over the place. Victor was in a pissy mood. He hadn't gotten laid or killed anything in three days and he was chafing for some action. Watching the Cajun pour on the charm and smelling the pheromones dripping off the housekeeper wasn't helping. He was dealing with his irritation by needling the kid.

"You gonna fuck her?" He asked. 

LeBeau rolled his demon eyes and blew out smoke before he replied, "She ain' exzacly my type."

"Too thin?"

"Be nice, she's helpin' us."

As if on cue, the girl waddled out the back door of the house, with a slip of paper clenched tightly in her chubby hand. She presented it to the Cajun, who glanced at it quickly and pocketed it. With many effluvious words of thanks, and praise of her beauty and intelligence, and a promise to return that evening and take her out for a night on the town, they departed.

They hoofed it a few blocks from the house, winding through the streets until they paused by a little dessert shop. There the Cajun took the paper from his pocket and read it. The calm expression on his face didn't change, but Victor heard him swallow and smelled the instant change in his scent - fear.

"Well?" He demanded.

The kid passed the paper to him with a slightly trembling hand that Victor pretended not to notice. On the paper was written "Antiquary" and an address in the city. Why the fuck was the kid scared of an antiques dealer?

He raised an eyebrow in question. "You ever heard of this guy?" He asked.

"Yeah, he's... involved wit' de Guild." 

"That's good, right? We just go and ask him for the album, then. You bein' the prince of the Thieves Guild and all, he'll have to hand it over."

None of this made sense and he was horny and mad and the kid was being weird and Victor had just about reached his breaking point.

LeBeau nodded. "Actually, I c'n handle dis myself if you got somet'in' else you wanna do?"

Well hallelujah. The last thing he felt like doing was going calling to some old dusty antique shop. He could go to a bar and pick up some pretty young thing who didn't speak English. Maybe get in a fight or ten. His mind wandered to the possibilities of a free evening to slake his urges for blood and sex.

The Cajun was still looking at him questioningly, with his head cocked slightly and the smell of fear leaching out of him.

"Sounds good." He grunted, shoving the paper in his pocket. He didn't give a shit if the kid was scared, as long as they got the album, and he was offering to do it on his own anyhow so...


	2. Chapter 2

Twenty minutes later, they'd returned to the apartment they were using in the city. It was a nice place, only one bedroom but plenty spacious and suitable as a home base when any of Essex's employees needed to spend some time in the city. That was one nice thing about working for the old weirdo, he had places to crash just about everywhere. No cheap motels or roughing it in the woods when you were working for him.

The Cajun had made a couple of phone calls and then departed to meet the antiques dealer. Victor changed his shirt and took a couple shots of a bottle of whiskey from the bar in the living room.

  
He was just about to leave for the nearest pub, hand on the doorknob, when his phone rang. With a sigh, he pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. Shit. It was Essex. He had to answer.

  
"Yeah?" He tried not to sound irritated but didn't do a good job. Oh well.

  
"Victor," the cool tone of Essex's voice indicating his displeasure with Victor's manners, "I take it you are not making any progress?"

  
"Nah, it's going fine. The guy sold the album, the Cajun went to get it from the antiques dealer who bought it. Said he knew the guy. So it'll be a piece of cake."

  
"Antiques dealer?"

  
"Yeah, he said the guy's part of the Thieves Guild or something."

  
A long pause.

  
"What exactly is this... person's name?"

  
For Christ's sake. Victor fished the paper from his pocket and read the name and address aloud.

  
"Antiquary?" Essex repeated.

  
"Yeah, why? What's the big deal?"

  
"Victor, listen to me very carefully. Under no circumstances are you to allow Remy to go there. You must stop him immediately." The doctor sounded odd. Victor couldn't quite place what the emotion in Essex's voice was, but the fact there there was any emotion at all was unusual enough.

  
"But-" he started to protest.

  
"Immediately!" Essex hung up.

  
Goddammit. Clenching his teeth, Victor wrenched the door open. Fine. Fucking fine. He'd go get the punk. He'd bring the sneaky little shit back here. And then he was going out to fuck and fight until he couldn't do either anymore. Essex could get the album his damn self.

***

Victor had hailed a taxi and made it to the address on the paper the fat housekeeper had given them, an ancient place in the close quarters of the Old Town section of the city. He paid his fare and jumped out a few buildings down the block, scanning the narrow street for the Cajun. 

He was across the street from the Antiquary's address, staring hard at the front of the building and seemingly oblivious to Victor's presence. That was unusual too. He normally had eyes in the back of his head, and Victor wasn't exactly inconspicuous.

He watched, more unnerved than he remembered being in a long time, as the kid's lips moved, saying something out loud to himself. He looked like he was giving himself a pep talk. Must have worked, and with a deep breath, LeBeau crossed the street to the large heavy wooden door of the Antiquary's shop before Victor's mind had a chance to catch up to his eyes.

Well, what the hell, he thought with a shrug, they'd been sent to get the album, and they were already here, so Essex was just going to have to deal with it. He'd tried to stop the Cajun. Sort of. He'd meant to, anyhow. Might as well keep him company and see what all the fuss was about. Maybe he'd get to crack some skulls after all.

Victor fell into step beside him as they climbed the steps. The Cajun knocked. Why did he knock? Wasn't this an antiques shop? There wasn't a sign anywhere, though. Was it the guy's house? 

The kid startled as he finally noticed Victor's huge presence.

A wave of panic came off the Cajun. "What de hell are you doin' here!?" He demanded. Before Victor had time to answer, the door was opened by a woman, probably mid-forties, with close cropped black hair and icy blue eyes.

She smiled at them, but it wasn't a nice smile, more like a shark baring it's teeth than an actual greeting. Victor's hackles rose. "Remy," she spoke in a slight, vaguely European accent, "you've brought along a friend. How nice. Do, come in."

She opened the door wider and let them pass inside, through a high ceilinged hallway, and led them into the fanciest sitting room Victor had ever seen. It was full of antiques and marble, with bookcases built along most of the walls and thick velvet drapes obscuring the light trying to enter the tall windows.

Victor felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. This was gonna be bad.


	3. Chapter 3

Sharkface had left them there, saying serenely "He will be with you shortly," before fucking off someplace else.

The Cajun sat himself stiffly on a sofa covered with a busy pattern of flowers. *Chintz*, the civilised part of his brain whispered, dredging up a vague memory of Raven bitching at him for not having enough of an opinion about the fabric she was picking out for their dining room curtains.

But that part of his brain was swiftly drowned out by input from his senses. This place had a fair number of people in it, a couple pretty close by, and more, farther away where it was harder to smell.

There were people here and damn near all of them were miserable. He smelled fear, tears, alcohol, vomit, sex, even a tinge of blood. Heard voices, speaking softly and fearfully.

What the hell was this place?

He turned to ask the Cajun, still sitting like a statue, staring off at nothing, with a hand at his throat, when a boy, no more than ten, appeared in the doorway. He was wearing a flowy white robe with long sleeves, carrying a gold tray with three glasses of ice water, like some demented cult waiter, and sat the tray on a low table in front of the sofa. As he leaned down, Victor saw that around his throat he wore a stiff golden necklace. He was a good looking kid - blonde hair, blue eyes, bright orange skin. A mutant.

The Cajun reached woodenly to a little table beside the sofa, opening a drawer and pulling out a stack of marble coasters, which he set out so the waiter could put the drinks on the table. The orange kid smiled shyly at Remy in thanks, and then left the room. Victor's eyebrows furrowed even further as he stood by the sofa, trying to make sense of... anything at all since they'd gotten here.

He didn't have long to think, before an older man entered the room. Tall, average build, white hair cut short, wearing a long red robe. Face like a Roman emperor, long nose, thin lips. Clearly the leader of this fucked up little group. He looked like a mean son of a bitch. Victor would know, he was one himself.

This must be the Antiquary. No wonder the kid had been afraid.

As he crossed the doorway, the Cajun stood. The man walked a few feet into the room, and stopped.

Following a few steps behind him was a young man, maybe fifteen, another mutant, this one with blue hair and eyes, lean and youthful, wearing a white robe and a heavy golden necklace inset with gemstones. Like a fancy dog collar. The young man kept a few steps behind the older guy, eyes demurely looking down, not making eye contact.

For a minute no one moved. Then the old guy smiled. "Remy," he spoke in a voice that was cultured and cruel, "how very nice to see you." He was looking at the kid like he wanted to eat him.

The Cajun walked over to the man, keeping his own eyes downcast. Victor didn't think this situation could get any more fucked up, but the kid was always good for surprises, so he should have guessed one was coming.

Remy LeBeau got down on his knees in front of the older man, bowing down on the floor before him to touch the toes of the man's shoes, actually *groveling at his feet*, and spoke softly.

"Master, I beg y'r forgiveness f'de intrusion, please-"

The man reached down and touched Remy's head.

"Remy, my dear, I'm afraid the years have left me a bit hard of hearing, you'll have to speak up."

The kid took a deep breath and began again, louder this time "Master, I beg of you t'please forgive me f'bein' so bad-"

He kept going, begging this old weirdo for help and asking forgiveness for, something, he couldn't figure out what, only that Remy was sorry for whatever bad thing he had done. The man turned his gaze from the Cajun prostrate at his feet to Victor, rooted to the spot watching this bizarre scene. He looked almost triumphant. Victor wanted to tear out his throat.

"Enough, enough. All is forgiven, Remy dear. Come, let us sit." the man spoke, stepping away from the kid and settling himself on the sofa. The young man with the fancy necklace sat on the floor at the man's feet, like a loyal dog. The Cajun sat in an armchair opposite. Victor stayed where he was, gaping.

"You have come for the Haluška geneology album?" The man asked, as he sipped from his water.

The Cajun nodded, still not looking directly at the Antiquary.

"Well," the geezer seemed to be considering, "I suppose, as a token of our many years of happiness together, I would be willing to give the album to you. As a gift."

Remy looked up then, "Y'would?" He asked hopefully.

"I would. After all, you left behind the last gift I gave you when you ran away. I suppose it wasn't to your liking." The older man said with a cruel smile, reaching down to touch the opulent collar on the blue haired youth. The boy looked up then, for the first time, and met Remy's eyes. There was a flash of something between them, a moment of recognition like when two war veterans meet.

The conversation continued with out him as Victor blinked. Remy had worn that fancy collar? He knew the shark lady and this old guy. He knew where the coasters were. They'd had 'many years together.'

As he tried to make these pieces fit in his mind, he realized the others had stood. Victor trailed along as they were escorted into the hallway. The dark haired broad was there with a large old book. He noticed she had on a collar too, a plain one like the ice water boy. He supposed the fancy collar was only for the special ones.

The Antiquary turned, and put both hands on the Cajun's shoulders. He looked intensely into the kid's eyes. Remy shivered slightly under the scrutiny.

"So very, very beautiful." He said wistfully, and turned to depart. The album was pressed into Victor's hands, and in a moment they found themselves back on the sidewalk in front of Prague's most fucked up antiques shop.

Victor was breathing deeply, his head spinning as the implications of what he had just witnessed hit him like an icepick to the temple.

Remy's feet had barely hit the sidewalk before he set off. Victor tucked the book under one arm and followed. They walked swiftly away and several blocks in the wrong direction, if they were going back to the apartment. Which they should have been.

The Cajun stopped abruptly beside an alley, and took his phone out of his pocket. He tried in vain for several moments with shaking hands to place a call to John. The job had been to get the album and pass it off to the Indian to be delivered to Essex.

"Let me." Victor took the phone from him. He dialed. Behind him Remy turned into the mouth of the alley and retched violently behind some garbage cans.

"Yeah?" John's voice jarred loudly in Victor's ear.

"We got the album. When can you do the hand off?"

More vomiting behind him.

"Half hour? That pizza shop by the museum?"

"Got it."

Victor hung up and turned around. The kid had taken a few steps into the alley and was bent at the waist, hands on his knees and shivering in spite of the warm late afternoon air. Victor approached him carefully. He might be sick again, though judging by the stench of the alley, he'd already painted it with the entire contents of his stomach.

Shit.

He put a hand on the kids back, trying and failing to be gentle. Remy flinched at the touch. Before he could think about what a colossally stupid time it was for questions, he heard himself ask softly, "How long?"

A shaky breath. A very quiet reply.

"Eight years."

Well, there wasn't a whole lot else to say, was there?

"C'mon. Let's go."

He led a very subdued Cajun back to the apartment. Neither man uttered a word. They stood in silence for a moment, before Remy spoke uncertainly.

"I t'ink... I t'ink I'll have a shower."

Victor nodded. "Good idea. I'm gonna go make the hand off. I'll order some food too."

"Ok." He was already halfway into the bedroom, clearly not in the mood to chat.

Victor left, and passed off the album to John, who said that Essex expected an update. Victor gave him the rough outline. The name Antiquary didn't light any Sparks of recognition for the big Comanche, luckily, so Victor was spared having to go into any kind of details. Probably have to answer to Essex later for not stopping the kid like he'd been told, but he'd worry about that later.

They had another job from Essex, he'd heard about another family heirloom in Brussels, so he wanted the three of them to go there tomorrow to track it down. Just peachy. John said he would come to get them in the morning.

Victor made it back to the apartment in record time. He'd called for takeout to be delivered in a half hour on the way back from meeting John. They'd eat dinner, maybe drain the apartment of booze, and head to Brussels tomorrow. They never had to talk about it. It was fine.

When he entered the apartment, he heard the shower running. He'd only been gone about a half hour. That was fine. A normal amount of time for a shower. He went into the bedroom and stood by the bathroom door. The shower was on full blast, he heard the Cajun moving around in the spray, and the door under his fingertips was warm from the heat of the shower. Good. He hadn't passed out in there or anything. Everything was normal. Just a man taking a shower.

Victor sat on the edge of the bed, facing the door to the bathroom.

***

He knew the kid had had a rough life. Knew he'd been adopted into the Guild when he was ten or so, and on the streets a couplea years before that. Figured there was more to the story - maybe he'd had parents when he was real young but they threw him out or died or something, he must have had someone looking after him when he was a pup. He hadn't ever cared to ask, and Remy had never offered, and that had been that.

But shit. Eight years meant he'd spent his whole life until he wound up on the streets with the Antiquary. Victor wondered if his parents had sold him to the guy, or if he'd been stolen. The geezer seemed to have a real thing for odd looking kids.

Eight years being a chew toy for that shriveled up old pervert? No fucking wonder the kid had never been afraid of Victor. He'd never flinched, never showed the slightest hint of being intimidated or scared of him. That had pissed him off. He was Sabretooth, for fuck's sake, the little shit ought to show him some respect. So he'd always had a hard on for shaking him up. Trying to get a rise out of him. And it had never worked.

Even that night in the tunnels, the kid hadn't hesitated to go toe-to-toe with him. Probably why Victor had lost it the way he did. He'd known better than to fuck with Remy. Essex had always made it clear that not one hair of his pretty head was to be knocked out of place by any of the rest of them. Sinister's little pet.

But now he knew why Remy wasn't scared of him. Because he already had a monster to haunt his dreams. Victor scowled. He didn't like that. if the kid was gonna have nightmares about anyone, he wanted it to be him, dammit.

The civilised part of his brain whispered that was a fucked up way to think about it. But he didn't usually listen to that part of his mind. And he wasn't gonna start today.

***


	4. Chapter 4

The shower had turned off at some point. He'd heard it but it wasn't until the bathroom door opened and a slightly soggy Cajun with a towel around his hips appeared in the doorway that Victor actually registered the fact. They both jumped a little, surprised to see each other.

The kid's eyes were red. Well, red and black. But also red beyond their usual because he had clearly been crying. He stood in the doorway, shivering a bit as the colder air from the bedroom hit him, looking so lost and scrawny and broken, like a stray puppy.

Goddammit.

Before either of them realized what was happening, Victor had reached out to grab him bodily and pull him onto his lap, the towel falling off Remy's narrow hips. The kid stiffened at first, but once he was being firmly held against Victor's massive chest, the older man's strong arms keeping him in place, he went limp. The terrible sadness that he'd tried mightily to resist became, in that moment, insurmountable. So he gave in.

Victor figured he was in for sobbing and wailing, and it would have been understandable. He wouldn't have thought less of Remy if he had been a blubbering mess. But he didn't scream and holler. Just held on to his sometimes-enemy-sometimes-begrudging-coworker, leaning his head against Victor's shoulder and turning his face to press against his thick neck. He drew in a shuddering breath, then another. But there was no sobbing. No anger. No nothing. Victor wasn't even sure there were tears, until he caught a whiff of saline and felt dampness against his shirt collar. Remy just sat there, noislessly crying. That silent grief was somehow even worse.

Victor held him, rubbing his back in big slow circles with his massive hand. Giving him the only comfort he could. Didn't bother saying anything, because there was nothing he could say that wasn't a lie. It wasn't ok, it would never *be* ok. It was massively fucked up and it always would be. Nothing could change that.

And that was how Victor Creed wound up with a sad naked Cajun in his lap, like a great big homo.

Well, what the fuck was he supposed to do? He might be a monster, but he wasn't heartless. Sure, Remy was a snot-nosed little shit most of the time, but the punk was *his* snot-nosed little shit.

After a long time, Remy's tears ran out. He nuzzled his face closer, tucking himself under Victor's chin, and closed his eyes, exhausted. Victor petted his hair, closing his own eyes and listening to the kid's heartbeat. They sat like that for a few minutes longer, tangled together up against the headboard.

With a sad little sigh, Remy pulled away enough to sit up, but not leave Victor's lap. He sniffled.

"I needed dat." He spoke quietly, his voice hollow and haunted as he met Victor's eyes.

"Yeah. Me too," Victor replied, just as quietly, and was rewarded with a watery smile from the young man.

"I got y'shirt all wet." Remy apologized.

"I don't care." 

He petted Remy's hair one more time, tucking a strand of dark hair behind his ear before letting the young man climb off his lap. "Now put some pants on, will ya? The food'll be here any minute."


	5. Chapter 5

The delivery guy brought dinner, they cracked open a fresh bottle of vodka, and found an action movie on the TV. An hour later, they raided the freezer for ice cream and the bar for another bottle.

They watched the movie, they ate, they shot the shit about inconsequential things like stuffing versus potatoes (they both agreed on stuffing) and who was the best mercenary to work with (Remy chose Wade Wilson, Victor chose himself.)

Neither of them were drunk, not really, but they weren't exactly sober either, when Remy started to slide off the sofa where he had been slouched and Victor scooped him up and carried him to the bedroom. He plopped the boneless Cajun onto the bed and switched on the TV to find another movie. He thought Remy was going to fall asleep after he snuggled into the covers like a sleepy cat, but as he scrolled through the menu, Remy suddenly became sentient again.

_"Battleship,_ let's watch dat."

"You're joking, right? It's got horrible reviews."

"I don' care, I like it." He was going to pout if he didn't get his way, Victor could already see where this was going.

"Jesus, fine," he grumbled as he laid down beside the lanky young man, "But why do you like it?"

Was he blushing? There was a very definite and really rather lovely flush to those high cheekbones.

"It's got dat guy from _Friday Night Lights_ in it an' I t'ink he's cute, alright?" Remy asked defensively.

"Alright, alright, we'll watch your shitty movie so you can see your TV boyfriend. D'you want me to leave you two alone? Should I go to the other room?"

"Shhkjhgjj!" the kid had the audacity to shush him with a finger to Victor's lips, well, more like a finger smushed against his face in roughly the same area as his mouth, but it got the point across.

Victor was full, both of food and of alcohol, he was warm and comfortable, and it had been a confusing and stressful day. His brain had mostly switched off for the night. Which was why it took him almost twenty minutes before the question formed in his mind.

"Wait, since when d'you swing both ways?"

"Hunh?" Remy's red-on-black eyes were glued to the screen.

"You think that guy's cute."

"Yeah?"

Victor gave him a swat on the arm to get his attention.

"I asked when you started playing for both teams."

Those demon eyes got wide and he let out a little sound, an "oh" of surprise. The kid squirmed a little and turned to face Victor, not quite looking at him.

"I don'. I only play f'de one."

"Which one?"

"De gay one." He replied quietly.

Victor blinked. No, that wasn't right.

"You're not gay."

"It ain' really up t'you, Victor."

"But you're not gay, you were married to that blonde girl."

"Bella Donna? She was my best friend. Our families said we had t'get married t'unite de Guilds. We agreed we would get hitched an' make a couple babies, but we'd bot' be allowed t'have boyfriends on de side."

"You're shitting me, right? What about the shunk haired girl, Raven's daughter? You chased her like a hound after a fox."

"She felt so sad b'cause she couldn't touch anyone. I wanted t'make her feel better, so I'd hold her hand an' tell her she's pretty. I couldn't even kiss her anyway, so it didn' matter dat I didn' really want to."

Victor shook his head. "No, you're a ladies' man. You kiss all the girls."

"I never kissed a girl willingly in my life. Sometimes dey kiss me, I can' help dat."

"What about the little filly in Paris? You were living with her."

"We slept in de same bed, but we didn' do anyt'ing but kiss. I told her I didn' want t'rush it, I cared about her too much. She t'ought it was so romantic. Den I would have taken de jewels an' disappeared."

Jesus Christ. This couldn't be right. Remy was a man whore, drowning in pussy. It was part of what made Victor dislike him so much.

"But you fuck every woman you meet." Remy made a face at that. So diplomacy wasn't exactly Victor's strong suit.

"No, I *flirt* wit' every woman I meet. I flirt wit' all de men I meet too. I'm from de South, it's what we do."

"You *don't* kiss all the girls?" Victor wanted to double check.

"No." Remy shook his head decisively.

"So you're telling me, you kiss all the boys?" He asked with a raise of a bushy eyebrow.

There was that blush again. Cuter than Victor would have expected on a man.

"No, I've only kissed two boys, willingly."

"Two? As in, more than one, less than three?"

"Two." He confirmed.

Victor was watching Remy, waiting for the 'gotcha, just kidding ha ha!' That had to be coming, but the kid was just looking back at him calm as anything, if a little tipsy. And still a bit flushed.

Christ on a cracker, he was serious.

"I... didn't know that." Victor finally said.

Remy shrugged. "Most people don't. Dey just assume. It's easier t'let dem t'ink what dey want."

Well damn. You learn something new every day.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Now c'n I watch my movie wit'out any more nosy questions?"

"Fine, geez."

They lapsed into silence again, Remy turning back to the screen. Victor barely paid attention to the movie, his mind working overtime to reconsider the Cajun in light of this new information. Trying to catch him in a lie. He'd seen the kid in bed with a woman, or heard him talk about fucking one, he was sure of it. Hadn't he?

Another twenty minutes and he was forced to admit that he couldn't *actually* remember any concrete evidence of Remy being heterosexual. Victor glanced over at him, looking at him as if seeing him for the first time. And he realised that, really, he was.

Between the shitshow with the Antiquary and this, he was seeing Remy LeBeau. The true Remy. That charming, cocky little shit that had always aggravated him so much was a lie, wasn't it? 'Gambit' was just a cover. A badass mask he wore to hide the real person, the vulnerable kid curled up in the bed next to him who'd been hurt and mistreated his whole life.

The Antiquary, on the streets, with the Guild, hell, even the X-Men had treated him like shit. Even before the Antarctica thing, Victor knew the kid had never really been welcomed with open arms in Westchester. He was too proud of being a thief, had too much of a past to fit in with Xavier's gang of dweebs.

So this was Remy.

And Remy looked chilly. Had the covers pulled up to his chin and was folded in on himself in a little ball.

"You're cold?"

The young man looked at him, and nodded.

"Here." Well, Victor was plenty warm. It would be rude not to share some of that warm with a cold person, wouldn't it? He reached his arm towards the kid, inviting Remy to come closer. A moment of hesitation, and then before Victor had a chance to regret the offer, Remy had snuggled up against his side, curing his lanky body against Victor's much larger one. He rested his head on Victor's shoulder again, settling in. It was nice.

"Can I ask you something?" Victor's words rumbled against Remy's ear pressed to his chest. He had to know, it had been bugging him all night, and if he didn't ask now he probably never would.

"Sure."

"Why haven't you killed him?" They both knew who Victor meant. The Antiquary.

The kid was quiet, tense, and Victor started to wonder if he'd crossed a line, if Remy would be pissed off that he brought it up. The silence stretched like a rubber band until it broke with Remy's sigh. He leaned back a little so he could see Victor better, and answered.

"I guess it doesn't make sense but... I'm scared of him." He admitted with a rueful smile.

Victor frowned. He squeezed the kid a little, pulling Remy back against him before he replied.

"No, it makes a lot of sense."

Remy laid his head against Victor's chest again.

"But you know what?" Victor continued.

"What?"

"I'm not scared of him. You want me t'kill him for you?"

"You would do dat?"

Victor thought about it for a minute.

"Well, I figure after all the shit I've given you over the years, I probably owe you one." He turned his head to rest his chin against Remy's dark haired head, "I'll give it a week or two, let things settle down, n'the next time I'm on a job in this part of the continent, I'll make sure I have a day or two layover here." He squeezed Remy again. "Whaddya say, you want me t'take care of him?"

Remy nodded, tucked under Victor's chin, and squeezed him back. Victor grinned, relishing the thought of making that little fucker bleed. He'd make damn sure the bastard suffered, too. God, he could hardly wait.

In a few minutes, Remy's breathing evened out as he drifted off to sleep, warm and safe. Victor followed soon after, visions of the Antiquary's entrails dancing in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: smooching!
> 
> Also, thank you to WhyWhyNot for teaching this old lady about keysmashing! I love it. I included some in this chapter in your honor. :)


	6. Chapter 6

Victor was no stranger to waking up in someone else's bed with a warm body in his arms. Or a cold one. What was new, however, was waking up with a *male* body in his arms. Turned out an old dog could learn a new trick, after all, he supposed.

Not that he'd ever planned to learn this particular trick. He'd never had any interest in men. And the few men who'd expressed interest in him over the years had been swiftly and thoroughly rebuffed. Victor wasn't a fag. Not that there was anything wrong with it, for other people, but it didn't hold any attraction for him. He liked women's bodies. Liked their bouncy tits and being able to grab big squishy handfuls of ass. The idea of cuddling up to someone with chest hair and muscles had always made him shudder.

It wasn't bad, actually. Probably had more to do with the particular man in his arms, though. Remy felt good pressed up against him, with his arm across Victor's chest and nose ticking his neck, soft even breaths blowing across him like cool ocean waves along the shore.

The kid smelled good, too, he always did. For someone as flashy as he was, Victor had been surprised the first time he'd scented the young man that he didn't wear cologne. He would've expected Remy to bathe in the expensive pungent shit. But he never smelled like anything but himself.

And what did Remy LeBeau smell like? Victor breathed deeply, mouth open, and let the scent fill his senses. It was intoxicating. That was one of the most aggravating things about him. His scent was fucking irresistible.

Remy smelled clean and warm, alive and masculine. There was a little electric charge in there too, somehow, that he'd never really been able to get a good read on. Victor had always figured it was his explosive kinetic powers. It was like fireflies along the edge of his senses. The closer he got to the scent, the more it eluded him.

But right now, he had the Cajun right where he wanted him. He was asleep, contented. Cornered.

He rolled Remy carefully onto his back, so he would have more room to maneuver. He stretched out beside the kid.

Victor nuzzled his face against Remy's neck, just under his chin, sniffing and snuffling and putting his lips against the warm skin. He had really nice skin. Soft. Smelling faintly of soap but mostly just... Remy. Christ, that Remy-smell was like nothing else. He buried his face against the sleeping Cajun, inhaling, bathing in his scent, chasing the fireflies along the skin.

He didn't want to eat the young man, he decided. For some reason his predator instincts weren't kicking in like they usually did when he had someone helpless underneath him. He didn't want to dominate and hurt. He just wanted to hold the kid. Protect him. 

He closed his eyes.

"Y'goin' t'bite me?" A soft voice inquired. He pulled back a bit to look at Remy, who was awake now, just barely.

Victor's eyebrows knitted together in a frown and he shook his head. "Hmm-mmm." He grunted.

"Y'sure?" There was mischief sparkling in those sleepy demon eyes.

Victor's face split into a grin as he realised that Remy was *asking* him to.

"Do you want me to bite you? Is that what you're saying?"

"Well," Remy's smile somehow shy and devilish at once, "Y'might like it."

Only one way to find out. Victor leaned in and breathed against the smooth skin of Remy's neck again, savoring, practically drooling in anticipation. He felt Remy shiver.

He set his fangs carefully against Remy's neck. The kid made the most delicious noise Victor had ever heard, some kind of cross between a sigh and a purr.

Victor dragged his teeth up and down Remy's neck, nibbling and nipping his way to the collarbone peeking out of his shirt. Not breaking the skin, mindful not to actually hurt the young man trembling in his arms, exploring the soft stretch of skin so sweetly offered to him.

He drew back again, looking down at Remy. He'd closed his eyes during Victor's gentle assault. He opened them halfway now, gazing up at Victor.

"I liked the sound you made." Victor's voice was husky and quiet.

"I made a sound?" Remy asked, half drunk with pleasure.

"Mmm-hmm. Do it again." Victor leaned back down to have another go at what had quickly become his favorite part of the Cajun.

"But what about de ot'er side?" Remy asked weakly.

That stopped him. Other side? Shit, there was a whole other side, wasn't there? Well, he ought to make it even. It was only fair.

Hooking one leg over Remy's, he dragged himself on top of the kid, on his way to lay on the other side so he'd have access to the other, unexplored part of his neck. Looking him in the eyes as he moved slowly. Remy was panting a little. Nice that Victor wasn't the only one riled up.

The air was pierced by the too-loud sound of his phone ringing. Goddammit. They both cringed. He stopped midway in his journey, straddling Remy, as he reached to the bedside table for his cockblocking phone. It was John.

He sat back on his heels, keeping most of his weight off the young man underneath him. Remy made a little sound of protest, putting his hands on Victor's thighs and squirming underneath him, coaxing. Jesus.

"What?" He snarled into the phone.

"Heeeeey there sunshine! Ready to go paint the town in Brussels with me?" 

"No. Fuck off."

"Well you don't have a choice. I'm coming up."

He heard a car door slam out on the street. Motherfucker. Of course he was. Victor took a couple deep breaths, reminding himself that if he murdered John, Essex would just send another one of him. He always had backups. Though that might buy him some time...

He threw his phone aside, and slid off of Remy, who had been waiting patiently for Victor to resume his amoral behavior.

"Where you goin'?" He objected, breathless, reaching out to keep Victor where he was.

"John's on his way up." Victor was standing next to the bed, leaning down over him.

"But, y'didn' finish-" Remy protested, touching his neck, the side Victor hadn't explored yet.

"Rain check?"

"Non-" he started, when Victor silenced him with a soft kiss to his forehead.

"Sorry, kitten. Next time." Victor vowed, turning to the door.

"Promise?"

He turned back, ignoring the sound of John's pounding on the apartment door long enough to take one last look at the kid sprawled out on the bed, disheveled and breathing fast and looking utterly delicious.

"Promise." He growled.


End file.
